Heart of the Sword
by celblau
Summary: [Oneshot][Prompt:Draw()] People interpret art differently when they see it, and Kenshin's battoujustu is no different. [Twelve Shots of Summer: Hexa-code Kernel]


**Okay, so it seems Rurouni Kenshin is not a great fandom to open Twelve Shots of Summer on because I have too many feelings for this franchise and anything I write for it must be the most extra thing I've ever wrote. So here it is, a 17 page monster and 4 weeks late. Enjoy!**

**Cover art: einlee **_ www()deviantart()com/einlee/_

* * *

Draw = function() {battoujutsu};

* * *

He was not amused at the sight of his apprentice. "Are you taking a shit? Stupid kid, why are you clenched up everywhere?"

"...You said I had to go faster."

"I did?"

"'See the leaf split, but not what split it.'" He muttered resentfully.

"Yeah, I don't go back on my words."

"Then I have to swing it harde-Gnngk!" The little redhead nursed a bump on his head. "Shishou!"

"Since when did I say harder meant faster?"

"...I _could_ swing the blade slower, but that means I can see the blade." Cheeky brat.

"Your tongue's getting sharper, but your swordsmanship isn't."

Violet eyes glared up at him balefully through his bangs, but he held his tongue. The man sighed, sipping his sake, before speaking. "When you train on the beach and the water laps at your feet, does it hurt?"

"Shishou?"

He nudged the child, nearly barreling him over. "Does it hurt?"

"...No."

"Yet the water can carve out cliffsides and swallow up ships. It is still, but tumultuous. Benevolent, but merciless."

"I don't understand-" He flicked the boy's forehead none too gently, earning a yelp.

"With that much thought you put in it, of course you don't. Continue your kata instead." With a heavy hand, the teacher pressed his student's tense shoulder down. "Relax."

* * *

**.Sanosuke**

It didn't take long for Sano to be friends with Kenshin, and it took even shorter for him to understand him. After their first fight and a tentative agreement to go drink, the man wouldn't draw his sword for any beef or personal gain. When the drunk got rowdy, he'd simply dodge them with his ever-wary eye.

No, it took a drunken man harassing an unfortunate lady, did Kenshin push the blade out of its resting place, smile ever-present. That's when he knew he would stand beside this man because he'd seen his back before, alongside another man who lost his life on this path.

Sano never got nasty vibes from him, if anything, he always reminded him of the people he loved and lost. Ones that were always taken advantage of because of what they stood for, they always died for their principles. But Kenshin was the example of those who survived. They were the strongest; they always drew their swords for the people they loved.

Kenshin and the heart of his sword was love.

* * *

"Show me battoujutsu."

Kenshin and Sano glanced up from their sake, both looking equally bewildered. Here, his brash and rebellious son was before him, head bowed low. Knowing him, Kenshin sobered, eyes narrowing as he gleaned his aura for deceit.

Kenji, sensing his father's hesitation, glanced up nervously before speaking. "I want to learn more of the sword."

"Raise your head." Kenji didn't. The old swordsman folded his hands into his sleeves. "Is the Kamiya Kasshin Style not teaching you enough?"

"I've already mastered the Kamiya Kasshin."

"Oh? Have you beat your mother?"

Sano hid his grin in his grin at the telltale scowl on the boy's face. But to both of their surprise, Kenji held his tongue, supplicating instead. "Please."

He could feel it, after fighting alongside the guy for so long, the way Kenshin's eyes darkened with thought as he sighed almost imperceptibly. He would refuse. In the pregnant silence, Sano figured he'd leave and consult Missy about it too––or as he'd come around to amending to "the Missus". He kind of got it though; he grew up some too. Kenji was belligerent, hot-headed, and quick to draw the sakabatou. Teaching him battojutsu––the thought made him laugh––probably meant the kid would end up killing someone sooner or later. Kenji could probably feel the rejection too, with the way his fists trembled at his sides. If he didn't know any better, the couple's most problematic child looked close to getting on his hands and knees right there.

That itself was wack.

"Hey kid," Both redheads' gaze snapped over to him. Geez, they forgot about him, didn't they?

"Sano-"

The martial artist dropped a silencing hand on his friend's shoulder. "Kid, why battoujutsu? Why Hiten Mitsurugi? Isn't there another dojo that you and Missy spar at? The, uh..."

"Maekawa." Kenshin chimed helpfully.

"Maekawa style, yeah."

Bewildered blues pierced into him. _Don't look at me. I'm throwing you a bone here. _"Maekawa style…" His hand closed over the top of the hilt, eyes downcast. "It doesn't meet my needs."

"How presumptuous."

Sano winced at the tone. _I guess I was thinking too highly of him. _He hasn't heard Kenshin that angry in a while.

His sword, his scar, even his skill may be gone, but there was still no ki like Japan's greatest swordsman. "You think so highly of yourself that you are above other styles? Is that what you have learned under your mother's sword? Your talent is meaningless in your hands." The air was heavy, and it wasn't only Kenshin's pressure.

This was bad. Kenji when angry was difficult enough, but if both of them were mad, Kaoru and the kids would be walking on eggshells for the next month.

"O-Oi, Kenshin, if both of you are pissed-" Then it struck him. Kenji still hadn't said anything.

His kenki was pushing back, sure, but there was no characteristic flash of temper. If anything, the kid seemed...awestruck.

"Kenji, you better tell the truth now, or your pops is gonna duel you for that sakabatou. And you're probably gonna lose it."

He flinched, hand tightening around the sheath. "I, I just want to-" Under Kenshin's heavy scrutiny, the boy flushed heavily. That was enough to startle Kenshin out of his anger, startle both of them if he was being honest. "My father, he was named Battousai. I-I want to see what made him worthy of the title of the 'Strongest', where the strength of this ki comes from."

"I don't wear the title of Battousai with pride." But his voice had softened, filled with something tender.

In that moment, seeing Kenji swallow nervously, clutching the sakabatou like a lifeline, Sano understood why he was here. Even with how wise Kenshin was, this was still his first rodeo being a parent.

"That-That isn't what I care about. I followed the way of the sword, mother's sword, and her ideals. But all I know about you is Battousai. Battoujutsu and this sword," He drew it in a motion that made Sano––_Sano, of all people––_ache. "Are all I know of you."

He met his father's gaze finally, his imploring gaze awakening an old memory, one of similar eyes filled with life and youth and begging him to stay. Sano couldn't hide of a soft laugh. He was preparing himself for the day he'd come to visit the dojo and see Kenshin just as he met him that day in Akabeko, back when he was Zanza. Kenji was a carbon copy of Kenshin without the cross-shaped scar, but when he pleaded like this, he really didn't resemble him at all.

"Father, please."

Kenshin probably couldn't say no to that. Hell, he could hardly say no to his daughter, so when his son looked like that: "The sakabatou, if you please."

The speed that Kenji sheathed and offered the blade could only be rivaled by the excitement lighting his navy eyes to a brilliant sapphire. Kenshin smiled as he tucked the sword into his waistband. "You look like Kaoru-dono, that you do."

Sano ruffled the boy's hair, to his yelp. "Don't frown, kiddo, you know your old man means that as a compliment." Mini-Kenshin smiled back shyly.

In a deafening blaze of ki and power, the sakabatou sang out of its scabbard in one gorgeous arc before settling in chudan no kamae*. "It's been some time since I've held a blade, excuse your father." Sano discreetly pulled the kid a safer distance, but he knew Kenshin wouldn't let the sword even graze his child. Kenji just let himself get pulled back, his dazed expression taking in his father like he's never seen before.

"Oi Kenshin, you haven't done it in a decade though." Sano snickered, then flinched as Kenji shot him a surprisingly nostalgic glare.

Kenshin chuckled back good-naturedly, retort anything but. "Still haven't beaten me yet"

The boy in front of him huffed, hiding the laugh in his sleeve as the brawler cursed. _Showing off for his son. _Breathing measuredly, he sheathed his sword, violet eyes twinkling. It'd been so long he'd forgotten how he was with a sword. No matter how much Kenshin disparaged his trade, no matter how goddamn happy the ex-hitokiri was doing laundry, there was a spark he had only when his sword was in his hands.

"Kenji," It was as if he had remembered to breathe, the force of his father's voice pushing air into him. Battousai lowered his stance, hand hovering over the hilt, smile resplendent. "Watch me carefully."

* * *

**.Tomoe**

He wasn't the only one haunted by blood, not the only one where the stains would linger even after washing his hands again and again. Tomoe loved him, loved him more than life itself, but there was always blood on the swords Kenshin used. She wondered if the sword itself was cursed, or it was her. A woman born in these times was always a misfortune.

He was lighting itself, his sword the red-colored flash in the dark. It took her breath away. In Kenshin, she understood satsujin-ken––the _art_ of the killing sword. He, no, _his sword_, made death beautiful. There was something blasphemous about loving her husband like this, an allegory of a bloody sword.

The whoops of children outside, Kenshin's soft laughter, he was good with kids. _Unlike her_.

Tomoe hesitated, fingers halting, and closed her hand around the sword Kenshin left in their home. Battousai's katana, it's weight seemed to pulse in her palm. Was it her own terrified heartbeat as she clasped the hilt, or could blades truly be cursed into living, bloodthirsty resentment?

Her hand flexed and drew; ringing pierced the air. She remembered the motion better than she thought, a samurai's daughter through and through. Memories churned in her stomach, Kyoto and fire, death with a pretty face. But there was no spray of blood and the blade was as clean as the last time Kenshin tended to it. No, she sighed with relief, it wasn't the sword.

In the reflection of the blade, her reflection was blurry, then the shape of the edge was blurry, then her eyes and cheeks were hot with tears.

It had never been the sword.

Tomoe knew in the overcast sky and the snow, in the tranquil forest and the silence of her soul, that today was her destiny. When she saw him ready his blade, rage resonating from blind eyes and deaf ears, she lunged between him and his attacker. Kenshin drew his sword, and she saw blood.

* * *

At that moment, he wasn't in Kyoto anymore. Not in the Kyoto he had seen grow for the last 10 years, but a Kyoto soaked in oozing darkness. He could hear it, the footsteps in the night, the voices of countless samurai, clandestine meetings of death in the back alleys. He could feel it, their fear, the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, making a gummy friction between his fingers and the handle of sword with sticky red evidence. He could smell it, cloying, coating his nasal ways, the back of his throat, his tongue.

It was the scent of plum blossoms.

"They say when tragedy strikes, 'a rain of blood falls,' but," Her pale skin, liquid rubies splattered across her face, his breath quickened, he could hear his voice like it was yesterday. "You truly made it rain blood."

_I hate this. _

His skills were unrefined, at best. He fended off the blade, skirting to the side with practiced ease, and cleaved. The man's step stuttered, and he slashed again. Blood flew as his target's back bloomed red. Another, and his sword chewed through flesh again and still, he wouldn't fall. A rush of ki, and the rush he felt when he swung his sword was no longer there. His cheek felt hot. He touched it, and his fingers came away bloody.

"_I can't die. I can't die yet." _

_I hate this._

Their house was cold. There was no fire. At the hearth, he sat, dutifully. He couldn't even smell the blood on his hands anymore. It had gone brown and soaked into the seams of his palms. He opened them, closed them, opened them again. It stained him from beneath his skin it seemed, like his sword. He hasn't cleaned it, not her blood. He wanted her to destroy his sword, destroy him for the crimes he's committed, for the happiness he's only destined to take from others. He wanted to rust away, like the blade would. The midwinter wind howled through the open window, but he felt no chill.

_I hate kenjutsu. _

Turning, men parted before him, but all fell prey to the deceptive range of his sword. _An oni_, they screamed, his hair a lick of flame as he descended on them. So fast was his sword that, blood pulsed through his veins and kissed his face, there was no resistance of bone anymore. He turned, the hilt of the katana pressing against the chest of a man. His eyes were honey-brown. Kenshin breathed, swinging the body into his comrades and sheathing the sword in one superhuman motion. The battlefield, in an instant hush, became his heartbeat and the sword at his side beat with him.

These moments, where the air smelled like snow beneath the gunpowder and every nerve in his body was singing––_where he never felt more alive–– _were the ones that made him sick.

_I will never kill again. _

Then Iori wailed, and he wasn't in _that_ Kyoto anymore; Kenshin's grip tightened on the wooden scabbard. His soul thrummed, whirling towards Cho. All was silent, the pounding furious in his chest as he met fate with his sword.

* * *

**.Saito**

A good cigarette and golden eyes were his definitions of a fun night. The acrid tang seared his lungs, he simpered like a satiated cat, pulling the roll from his lips and deflecting a blade from his right. This was how things were meant to be. The nights in Kyoto these days hazed the lantern light with smoke and summer heat, and as he slid in the stance forged in his muscles, he found that swordplay made it all the better.

A man that had continued with the momentum suddenly jolted and collapsed. There he was, a demon rising from the heat haze, whipping blood from his blade. Hair ablaze with color and eyes glowing like fireflies, he stepped forward. Saito smirked. The dragon was out to play and the wolves heard his call. He bared his teeth and its name was Gatotsu.

His gaze flickered with mild interest and sheathed his sword smoothly, stance low. Fools who don't know his moniker would come at him in confidence, thinking him surrendered, but Hajime Saito was not a fool. Bloodlust pulsing from the man sent goosebumps down his spine.

Fear was a friend of any swordsman, but the Shinsengumi never let it control them. Saito sprinted forward, adrenaline wild in his eyes, blade faster than an arrow. The ping of a sword screamed out of its sheath at wicked speed, screaming the name that'd haunt him for a lifetime––Battousai.

* * *

Koushijiro sighed, mussing his dark hair. "How does he always know!"

Prodding his brother with his bokken, Kenji raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm better than you and even Kanako can read you like a book?"

"Pfft, shut up, at least I'm not an idiot. Ow!" He grabbed the offending weapon, glaring. "I wasn't even talking about you, dumbass!"

The teenager rolled his eyes, murmuring a "c'mon, break's over" and getting in stance. "You mean...dad?"

"Yeah, I've never been able to get past him." He picked himself up begrudgingly and matched the stance. "Men!"

Deflecting the head strike, Kenji swung for the shoulder, catching his little brother sharply but mindful of the lack of protective gear. "Kou, just because dad always catches you trying to sneak out doesn't mean you're good at it." Bokken clattering between then, they circled, exchanging hits before Kenji got him on the defensive.

Purple eyes strained as he warded off another strike. "But remember when you tried to sneak out to see Chizuru? You only made it out because dad was following you. Geez, take it easy!"

"How do you know about that?" He growled but pulled the weight of his blows.

"Maybe if you stuck around with mom and dad when they have tea on the engawa, you'd know."

Koushijiro ducked under a particularly vicious swipe, laughing, squealing when his brother's face eventually matched his hair. "You're dead!"

"How's Chizuru~~?"

"Argh!"

At the sounds of yelling, Kenshin peered into the dojo. His youngest son struck in an attempt to take advantage of Kenji's anger, but they wouldn't be brothers if only one could push the other's buttons and he was fighting recklessly in no time. By the time Kenshin had worked his sandals off, their kendo forms devolved into brawling.

He laughed softly, picking up the sakabatou that Kenji left at the door, the weight still familiar after all these years. Kaoru had come to check on the boys as well, her crooked smile mirroring Koushijiro's from the other door of the dojo. Even little Kana poked her head in, blue eyes wide at the speed of their bokken, but by then Kenshin had to put his foot down.

"Kou'jiro, Kenji," The two of them looked up from each other, Kenji's wrist still between Koushijiro's teeth. "That's enough, that it is."

Without giving up his grip in his brother's hair, Kenji's resentful blues cut over to him; Kenshin blinked at the rancor. "Father, I don't appreciate you and mom telling Kou about Chizuru."

"Everybody knew anyway, aniki, why are you so sensitive? Mad that you can't get her to notice you still-Mmgk!"

The glint in Kenji's eyes was dangerous, a hint of his famous temper now starting to show. "Maybe if you learned to control that mouth of yours, Yahiko would've been interested in teaching you the succession technique. Mom sure isn't!"

He fought free from the hand gripped around his mouth and lashed out with the training sword. "You only got to learn it first because you're older! I bet Mom regrets letting you learn it!" Kenji barely even registered the hit when he erupted.

"Kou-shi-ji-ro-o-o!"

"Boys, boys-Oro!" At his attempt to worm his way between them, his oldest swung the other son to get him off his arm, bowling their father over. He rubbed his head ruefully. It honestly impressed him that even with the 4-year gap between them, Koushijiro could aggravate Kenji to no end. "This one is truly too old for this." From his peripheral vision, Kaoru giggled.

With a triumphant laugh, Koushijiro pinned him after headbutting him to the ground. "Just because you're older, doesn't mean you're better!" Snarling, Kenji twisted to shove him off with his bokken, but his younger brother batted it from his grasp. "Hah!"

His eldest had better foresight, head lurching to the side as the bokken sailed towards the door-–where his mother and little sister sat. "Kana!"

It was like blinking, seeing the mildly concerned expression of his mother to the sudden broiling visage of his father who had caught the weapon. Both of them froze at the sharp-eyed stare he leveled them with before turning and patting Kana's head reassuringly.

As his parents murmured between each other, Koushijiro's panicked whisper broke through his shock. "Did you see that?"

He met huge violet eyes, bit his lip, and shook his head slowly. "He was definitely on this side of the dojo."

A hard "Koushijiro" made the boy on top of him straighten like a board. He would've laughed if he didn't recognize his mother's sharp smile. "A thousand practice swings."

"Wha-! One thou-! But Kenji-!"

Kenshin's hard gaze cut the whine short. The boy scrambled off his brother, starting his reps with a pout. Sitting up, he was about to breathe a sigh of relief when feet stopped in front of him. Here it was, his turn. "Keep your grip. Finger push-ups."

He winced at the low order. There wasn't a number. That wasn't good.

"When you're done, two hundred practice swings." A click caught his attention; he glanced up to narrowly avoid hitting a hilt of his sakabatou. "With this."

Still doing reps behind Kenshin, Kou glowered at him and he had to resist from smirking. That was still better than a thousand. He moved to begin his push-ups when the hilt stopped him again.

"Hold it. I want your swings to be a certain way." Kenji looked up sharply.

Whatever his father's smile meant, there was an edge to it that he didn't know. He only had a second to realize he really didn't like it, before the man before him took a step back. Something unpleasant swam in his stomach as he ripped the sakabatou from its sheath, the gleam of the blade and a roar of air before a line divided his vision in two. Kenji swallowed thickly, staring at the dull edge just inches from his face, his bangs blown from his sight. A bokken clattering on the dojo floor startled him out of his stupor. Koushijiro's jaw hung open, eyes huge.

Twirling the sword and sheathing it, he offered the hilt to his son. "Two hundred of those. If it flies from your grasp, you start over."

Numbly, he took the sword, weight still catching him off-guard. Kenshin shuffled over to his mother, helping her correct Kana's posture in her efforts to heft Kenji's bokken. Imploring eyes shifted towards his mother.

She only smiled back. "You're going to have to use two hands for a strike like that. Kou'ji, stop gawking or I'm making you start over."

A squawk and the continuation of rhythmic strikes was all that registered to Kenji as he replayed the image in his mind. That clunky blade, difficult to even draw smoothly, bared at him, his father's gaze simmering with intent, the lurch in his gut at the presence that overwhelmed him. His father wasn't just an ex-samurai, not after that.

"Kenji."

Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, that very same gaze trained on his held a smattering of gold.

"The push-ups, if you will."

* * *

**.Shishio**

Shishio only knew power, and when Battousai drew his blade, he saw it incarnated in the shape of a man. Ruthless, lightning-fast, effective, it didn't matter what steel was in his hands because Battousai didn't need a fine sword to be powerful. It very well could've been an iron rod and it still would have rained blood.

As he sat surveying the battlefield, cleaning his blade leisurely, a blur of red streaked across the land. It chewed through men like fire through wood and for a moment, Shishio thought it was cannon fire. Screams of men and sprays of blood told him otherwise; that cannonball had a sword.

And he was good with it, the blade the embodiment of death in his hands. Brave and stupid men approached and died with no more than an afterthought. _Weak, _he laughed, exhilarated, _this man is strong. _So incredibly strong, he killed the men before him like they were insects, clearing out a patch of battlefield on his own. Practically giddy with excitement, he watched Battousai _dominate_ with the speed of his sword, flicking it to clear it of blood.

Yellow eyes bore into his. Even from this distance, Shishio could feel his ki. Chills danced through him, his sword trembling as they measured each other. He wanted this man. He wanted to fight him, to make this wildfire kneel at his feet. The atmosphere thickened, Battousai's glare narrowed. Perhaps that would be difficult, the hitokiri chuckled, standing, but he would have the Battousai.

With that overwhelming sword, he would carve a true era from the embers of this stupid country. With the blade Battousai drew, he'd have all the power.

* * *

Deliberate steps, bubbling ki, and a hard downstroke had him strafing mindfully. Something about the way she pivoted on the soles of her feet as her bokken followed him made his breath catch but not enough to step back just out of her range. With a cry, she thrust suddenly, and he parried.

Her foot jutted out, catching the back of his ankle.

His knee hit the dojo floor hard. "Oro!" That sakabatou narrowly made it up in time to guard against her downstroke, bokken and blade trembling at the pressure she pressed him with.

"If you think holding back that much is my skill level, think again, Ken-_shin_!" Hopping back when he fended her off with his superior strength, she leveled the bokken at him again. "Come!"

Those blue eyes darkened with mirth, and she leveled the bokken at him for the third time now. That part of him, the rash part that he always stamped down, piqued its interests at her blatant challenge. Years of practice silenced it.

Her opponent chuckled, replying measuredly. "I thought this was a simple spar, Kaoru-dono. That was unfair, that it was." Three narrow steps later, she was on the defensive but her face wasn't strained. Yet, at least.

A spike in intent, she stepped hard, and his natural reflexes compensated for his surprise when he leapt out of range. She smirked. "I'm at a disadvantage, and it's an unofficial spar."

He picked up his pace, metal clattering against wood. With his onslaught, Kenshin pushed her back. She was starting to flag, her left guard lacking. So when he hopped left, she raised to guard again, left flank exposed. He took the opportunity, restraint tensing his arm to stop just before it made contact with her gi.

Polished wood pressed against his cheek gently.

Freezing, he followed the length of the bokken up to the face of its wielder. Eyes the color of sapphires sparkled at him mischievously and he forgot to breathe. _A feint_, something told him fuzzily. The blade didn't make it to her clothes, pinched between her knuckles in the familiar way she'd taught Yahiko to catch swords. Her face, lightly flushed with exertion, glowed.

Her pretty pink lips curled into a smug smile, and he watched them trace the word, "Gotcha."

"One more round." His mouth was moving before his brain. He found that didn't care at his point.

Releasing him, she shrugged. "You asked for it! You gonna go harder on me this time?" Something in his face must've mollified her because she only grinned upon seeing his face.

As soon as the bokken was up, his sword arrived, her wrists vibrating from the force of his blow. Gritting her teeth, she bore it. _Finally_, satisfaction bubbled in her at the skill he displayed even while fending him off with his momentum instead. With a harsh breath, Kaoru diverted the course of his attack. She'd broken his form!

Kenshin didn't falter, wrist twirling and ripping the weapon from her hand. Gasping, the girl attempted to step back but wobbled. A strong hand pressed snugly against the small of her back and suddenly her hands were against a very firm chest at the correction. Eyes that hadn't left hers the second they started were a heated honey-brown.

And suddenly, her mouth was very dry.

Face hot, her tongue smoothed over her lip, searching for the words. His attention flicked down for a split second, before returning to her face expectantly. Sputtering, stuttering, her eyes looked everywhere but him, yet she could never resist. She peered up at him, hopefully, through dark lashes; Kenshin smiled.

His mouth crushed into hers, making her squeak but he simply pulled her into him harder. Hand cradling her cheek, he kissed her hungrily, sending her toes curling as teeth nipped her lip. Her fingers fisted in his gi, trembling with so many new sensations at once. She trusted and he caught her, tasting her, feeling her sigh, feeling adoration bloom in his chest, knowing he'd be tethered here forever.

He parted from her with a heavy breath, not before stealing a peck before letting her really breathe. Her eyes fluttered open, and he took in her lazy smile. It was tempting to kiss it off but he also loved her smile. A dilemma she took the liberty to decide for him.

"I guess you're kind of competitive, huh?" She breathed, and he fell for her all over again.

Five minutes and two hickeys later, he pressed kisses along her brow, muttering, "We should spar more often, that we should."

Against his neck, she laughed brightly.

* * *

**.Yahiko**

He didn't really get it still. Kenshin was amazing no doubt, the sheer _power_ that radiated off of him made him so jealous, but something hurt watching him fight. He wasn't sure if it was there at first; because, Kenshin was so cool that he didn't notice it. Drawing his sword made him look so sad.

It had just been a simple kata, both of them settled in the dojo and going through their warm-ups. Okay, it was mainly Kenshin doing his warm-ups. In the year that he'd been learning kendo from Busu, he'd never seen Kenshin practice. He was stoked, to say the least.

Something about Kenshin's swordsmanship took everyone's breath away, heck, people always stare in amazement whenever they saw him at work for the first time. Even though this slow kata, Kenshin's strokes blurred through the air, sword singing. It was the sound he hoped to make when he did his practice strokes, the ones that Kaoru could make.

Kenshin sheathed the sakabatou, sighing. Huh, if that was all the practice he was going to do, then he had no idea why Kaoru made him practice for so frickin' long.

A loud step recaptured his attention, sword lashing out of the sheath. Kenshin held it, relaxed, and sheathed the blade again. Yahiko had all but given up doing his katas and watched with a slightly stricken smile. He was just doing the same thing, over and over again, drawing the sword and sheathing it. Sometimes they'd be slow and deliberate, other times, he wouldn't even see Kenshin grab the hilt. It really was amazing, but…

The sakabatou sliced air, the scabbard following it at blinding speed: a slower sou ryuu sen. The man glanced at his young spectator, lips curving faintly as he reset his position. Yahiko's grin faltered, shocked at the empty ache in his chest even at the awesome show of skill. Why, as Kenshin executed another blazing quickdraw, did it hurt to see him practice like this? This wasn't the first time he's felt this before, sometimes in the battles, Kenshin bruised and bloodied but ultimately victorious, his violet eyes would be far away.

Why did watching him even draw his sword make him want to cry?

* * *

There were many nights like this now. Seated on the engawa, back pressed to a specific shoji door, a lone spectator of a luminous gibbous moon cradled his sword against his shoulder. He knew Kaoru-dono could sense him outside her door and was counting the days until she would finally ask, but she was being oddly unintrusive about the time of her absence or his behavior. Perhaps she knew even what it was plaguing his sleep at night.

_Blue eyes, vibrant, untameable, still so beautiful in glossy death. A bleeding cross, red on white, too white, skin. _

These nights, where the chirp of crickets and nights as lovely as this, he'd wake standing, sword in hand and hair clinging to the moisture running down his cheeks. The first few nights, he'd dry heave, sight swimming, barely keeping his dinner, unable to resolve the contraction of death and _her_ in one memory. Too much, it'd be too much, lungs with an escalating drum of panic beating, beating in his ears. He needed –-_needed_–– to know. Fisting the yukata over his chest, he willed it away, willed the trembling away with the sound of her even breaths from behind the door. She was fine, sleeping, _alive. _

Eventually, the soft rhythm of her breathing would soothe him into shallow but dreamless sleep, and in the day, he'd smile the rurouni smile, having escaped in the dim morning light to start his chores. Still, he'd catch her sleeve occasionally, the ends of her hair with wandering fingers, a balm to a wounded heart. If the fleeting concern in her eyes was a sign, she noticed and knew.

Tonight was one such night; he breathed in the warm night air, lolling his head back against the shoji with trickling contentment.

"Kenshin?"

He'd sensed him before he rounded the corner but opened his eyes when he heard the quiet whisper. Yahiko, yukata in disarray, padded towards him carefully. The boy looked far too awake for the hour. "It is late, that it is, Yahiko."

"I know." A raw edge in his voice cracked.

Eyes accustomed to the dark, the swordsman could see the glassy sheen in dark eyes. A calloused hand pat the spot beside him softly. Yahiko obliged without a word. The older man still couldn't hide his surprise when he huddled against him, hugging his knees. Slowly, tentatively, Kenshin placed his hand on his head and ruffled the messy hair some more.

Together, they observed the silvery moon and stars. The crickets had stopped their song by now and all the sound that the night had left to offer was the rustling of leaves and an occasional wet sniff from the child beside him. It smelled like summer and water, a promise of cicadas and fireworks, the warm air holding no chill. For the first time in a long time, he wanted sake, to taste the beauty of this night. Even though two bruised souls lingered here, he knew this wind promised nothing of pain.

"Kenshin," His tiny voice came muffled from behind his sleeves. "How do you forget?"

His heart dropped, his hand too, settling on his hunched back instead. "Forget?" There was a pregnant pause before Yahiko replied.

"Forget the things that hurt."

Rubbing his back now, it shook beneath his palm.

"I know she's okay. But," His sleeves couldn't hide the quiver in his voice, and he'd never seemed younger than at that moment. "I just don't want to remember anymore."

"Yahiko…"

He'd forgotten. He wasn't the only one who lost her. He had just been the last one to get up.

"You cannot forget, that you cannot." A snowy forest, plum blossoms, and a sting in his cheek.

His young friend finally lifted his head, eyelashes sparkling.

"Fear is not a strictly negative emotion." He wasn't quite sure who he was talking to anymore. "Remember this pain, and use it to strengthen your resolve."

"Strengthen… my resolve…"

Sighing, he pulled the boy closer to him, hoping some reassurance in his presence. "But for now, rest. Wounds like this… take longer to heal."

He gave no reply but snuggled closer. Kenshin mused, briefly, that this likely wasn't going to be the last time he'd meet Yahiko like this. It was a long time before Yahiko fell asleep, just as the sky streaked with pinks and golds.

* * *

**.Kaoru**

She felt it before anything else. It had been so long, the sharp bloom of ki she felt and the wind whistling in response, and she felt seventeen again. The next thing she knew, she was sprinting down the engawa.

Kaoru laughed breathlessly even though she missed it, only feeling the gust of wind and his follow through stance. Their gazes met; he wasn't finished. Sheathing the sakabatou in another fluid motion, he performed another. _Kuzu ryu sen_, he was done before she could close her eyes and relish the sensation. Elation rushed through her at the feel of him, his kenki sparking across her skin, his joy shimmering in lilac eyes. Everything felt as it should be right then and there.

Kenji remained star-struck for a moment, Sano too rooted in the ground. Kenshin grinned boyishly, saying something that snapped both of them out of it. Her child rushed him, begging for the katana, and demanded to be taught that petulant Kenji way.

He handed it to him, their mirroring excitement making the two of them look almost like twins if it wasn't for the length of his hair. As Kenshin guided Kenji through the motion, troubleshooting his form and the draw speed of the sakabatou, she caught his eye and held it with a gentle smile. No matter what anyone thought, even himself, happiness was always near when Kenshin drew his sakabatou.

* * *

It felt like breathing, like flying after discovering his wings. It was like becoming the wind itself, the sword and him undecipherable. In a spell of sword and power and _bonelessness_, his arm whipped out before him. The training dummy before him realized it was cut, and he realized the pulsing was his heart pounding through his body. Breathless, he stared at the sword in his hand, absolutely beaming like an idiot. He couldn't help himself. He felt free.

"Kenshin."

Gasping, he turned to his master. He had forgotten he was even there.

Hiko scrutinized him shortly, almost bored, before he smirked. "You relaxed."

* * *

.

Oddly enough, it wasn't surprising when Kenshin absorbed battoujutsu technique after technique. His nature and will were so similar to it: they could cleave a man in two in a heartbeat but was always delicate and gentle in nature. It was an art that not even he could really appreciate, having used it for nothing but himself. But Kenshin drew his sword to create a world he could've only dreamed of in his bloody youth. One could even say that Kenshin, that _sakabatou_, was battoujutsu itself, the sword of contradiction, the beginning of change. The sword was only an extension of its wielder after all.

Hiko sipped from the flask, frowning heavily. It felt particularly bad to be waxing poetry about his idiot pupil on a full moon as gorgeous as this.

* * *

**I refuse to accept Kenshin's fate in Reflections is canon, especially his relationship to Kenji and Kaoru. It makes me beyond angry because it's not in his nature anymore to behave in such a way that would so blatantly disregard the feelings of his family, especially after he made a commitment to them. Kenshin is a selfless man, yes, and he feels the need to help people, but the whole point of the manga is that he learns to forgive himself. That, in turn, allows him to learn to be selfish and love again.**

**When Kaoru tells him to rest at the end of the manga, I firmly believe he does. He is done atoning. Also, Kenshin, head-canonically, would die for a daughter that looks like Kaoru and low-key, Kaoru would totally bait him with the prospect of one. Kenji is at minimum 15 in any of these vignettes, as he's in possession of the sakabatou, which he got as a genpuku gift from Yahiko (on time, mind you Reflections).**

**Aside from opinions on a relatively obsolete franchise, I can't write a cohesive story for shit even four years later, HAH. This was probably kind of boring and a lot more wordy than I was expecting, but I really wanted to explore characters this time. This cast is just so colorful and the fandom so imaginative that I needed this tribute to Kenshin more than anything else. I definitely had more people in mind, like Soujiro and Megumi, but for repetition's sake, decided to cut them. I'm sorry that this piece is kind of messy; it's my first time back in a long, long time. Thanks for sticking all the way till now. **

***Chudan no kamae - your quintessential kendo stance in modern samurai media, hands low and apart, tip bared towards the opponents chin. **


End file.
